Debut
by virtualfindingsdocumented
Summary: It's Esmé's debut on stage and she is waiting for someone special.


_**A/N**_ : Entry for Fictober _2018, day 15._

 _ **Prompt:**_ _"I thought you had forgotten."_

* * *

Backstage was a mess. Actors ran around trying to memorize details of their lines in the last minute, while make-up artists ran after them to make last minute adjustments to their looks. Esmé felt she was the only one standing still. The hair pins pulled her hair and the dress itched her skin, the high heels hurt her feet and she swore she could feel every spec of glitter on her face.

To put it simply, she was uncomfortable.

But her discomfort had less to do with her costume and more to do with the fact that this was her debut, her first play outside of classes. The theater was small and the play was not important, the code in it serving just for evaluation purposes. Still, it was a big step, and thinking about it made her hands sweat and her legs tremble. Her discomfort also had everything to do with the fact that she had seen many familiar faces in the audience, including her acting coach, some of her colleagues, and the people who would evaluate the performance, but she hadn't seen the one person she was hoping to see.

 _Arriving early is a sign of a noble person._ That's what they always said. She wouldn't be late. She had promised she would be there. Why wasn't she there yet? She had enough privileges to get a good seat, in a place where she would be easily seen. She hadn't forgotten, had she?

Esmé was uncomfortable. Her heart hurt with the idea of not having the woman she loved there during one of the most important moments of her life. She couldn't leave backstage to check. She couldn't cry or it would ruin her make-up. She had to stop shaking and get into character.

She couldn't do it. What was the point of doing this if Beatrice wasn't there? Beatrice was her inspiration, her idol, her muse, the one who encouraged her to keep going when she wanted to give up. The one who interceded in her favor when she was almost kicked out. The only one who stood up to Esmé's parents and defend her when they thought she was a lost cause. She couldn't do it without Beatrice. She had no reason for doing it. Without her, Esmé would be alone, in an accounting school or something as boring as that.

The mess backstage suddenly organized itself, and Esmé saw herself pulled to one of the wings, in a line of actors ready to step on stage. She saw the lights illuminating the scenery and soon she was on the middle of the stage. She looked to the audience and saw nothing, only darkness. Her lines came out of her mouth, pronounce and intonation flawless, but she didn't feel as if it was her speaking.

She moved around, following the script perfectly, but it was like her body was moving on its own. She didn't need to think, all came out naturally. At a point she wasn't Esmé anymore, but her character, she spoke and thought as her character, and it felt perfect.

Time flew, soon came intermission, and then the second act, and Esmé screamed as her character went through a downward spiral of madness. Her hair and make-up were ruined in angry fits, her dress was torn, and she used one of her heels to threaten a younger woman. Esmé was so caught up in her act that she couldn't even remember her initial discomfort.

In the last scene she knelt on the center, ruined, just a shadow of who she was by the beginning of the play, and fell forward after being stabbed on the back. The lights went off, and the sound of applause seemed to wake her from a dream.

It went alright. Esmé stood up in tears. It all went alright, they were applauding, and in the front row she could see the pleased faces of the organization's critics. Her co-star pulled her into a hug, and she felt silly in that torn costume. Still no sign of Beatrice.

A stage-hand walked to her and gave her a bouquet of red roses. Esmé accepted it without thinking and followed the rest of the cast out of the stage. She couldn't wait to get rid of that costume.

The young actress took her time in the dressing room, transforming back from the mad and villainous woman she played into her real self. She removed the strong and ruined make-up and replaced it for something more discreet and fashionable. The giant heels were replaced by her comfortable ball shoes, and the torn dress by a beautiful red gown she had prepared specially for the occasion. She brushed her hair into shape and applied her cologne, a scent that her lover always praised. She felt a pang in her chest. That's right, Beatrice was not there. It was alright, she supposed. Maybe she was caught in a last minute mission. Surely she had something more important to do than to watch this performance. Esmé shouldn't feel hurt.

As she was leaving the dressing room, Esmé looked at the bouquet resting on a table. An idea came to her mind, but she told herself she shouldn't get her hopes up. She opened the card.

" _I would love to take tonight's star to a Very Fancy Dinner._ "

It had no signature, only the familiar drawing of an eye. Esmé sighed.

* * *

Esmé heard a lot of praises in the after-party, a great amount of them coming from her acting coach. To avoid an embarrassing situation for them both, she said no word about the roses. Thankfully, he seemed to take the hint.

She was not surprised that she didn't see her parents around. They were probably too busy with their precious tea set to even care about tonight. Even thinking about that made her want to drink one more glass of champagne. She knew many people around knew she was only 17, but no one seemed to bother. It was not like she hadn't drunk before.

She was just finishing another glass when someone came from behind her and took it from her hand. Esmé turned around, ready to fight, but all words left her when she saw who it was.

"Beatrice!" She exclaimed, pulling the older woman into an enthusiastic but proper hug. "You're here."

"Of course I am." Beatrice said, before drinking the last sip of champagne from Esmé's glass. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. I thought you had forgotten."

Beatrice frowned.

"How could I forget such a special occasion?" She said, softly stroking Esmé's hair.

"I didn't see you in the audience."

"I'm sorry. I had to arrive a little later than I wished to."

"It's alright." Esmé said, pulling Beatrice's hand to give it a soft kiss.

"Congratulations, my dear. You owned the stage."

"I know." Esmé replied, smiling. "So, now it's only a matter of time until we share the stage together…"

"I don't know if I can deal with the competition." Beatrice said in a playful tone. "I'm thinking of sharing something else with you tonight…" She added, suggestively.

Esmé raised her eyebrows.

"Like what?"

"A nice meal, maybe." Beatrice said, then looked to the side. Esmé followed her eyes to the dancing area. "And a dance?"

"Only if you lead. My feet are killing me." Esmé replied, dramatically.

Beatrice found a waiter to give the empty glass she still held, then reached her hand out to Esmé.

"If you'd give me the honor?"

Esmé took her hand and the two walked to the dancing area, where, despite the pain in Esmé's feet, they stayed the whole night.


End file.
